So I finally made it out to Seal Beach Pier last Tuesday morning, figuring weekdays might be quieter. Man, was I wrong about that.
The Parking Struggle
First thing hit me was the damn parking. Rolled in around 10 am thinking it’d be easy. Nope. Circled that tiny lot like a vulture for twenty minutes straight. Saw an old Buick finally backing out, practically stood in the spot waving my arms before some punk in a Prius swooped in. Ended up parking way down Ocean Avenue. Walked back feeling like a chump.
Hitting the Pier
Foot hit those wooden planks and wham – hit by the smell. Not bad, just… strong. Salt, fish guts, sunscreen. Real ocean smell. Pier looks old, kind of beat up but solid, you know? Railings chipped, paint peeling near the surf line. Functional.
Strolled past maybe twenty folks fishing. Saw:
- One dude hauling up a tiny Mackerel, grinning like he won the lottery.
- A family using those rental pole setups you get from the bait shop at the front. Kids were yelling every time the line twitched.
- Some serious guys with buckets full of bait, coolers ready, looking like they planned to stay all week.
My Attempt at Fishing
Brought my own travel rod. Paid $10 bucks for a one-day fishing license – felt like the dumbest $10 ever spent when I saw everyone around me pulling up air. Baited up with a bloody anchovy. Smelled godawful. Cast out near the end of the pier where the water looked deepest.
Stood there holding the rod like an idiot. Felt the little taps. Got excited. Pulled up… seaweed. Again. And again. Third cast, something heavy! Jerked the rod back… reeled in like crazy… pulled up a giant tangle of fishing line covered in rusted hooks. Gave up. Sat on the bench watching the pelicans dive bomb like feathered torpedoes instead.
The People & The Place
That bait shop at the entrance? Wild. Small, cramped, smelled like low tide in a bucket. Old guy running it moved slow but knew everything. Sold me a surprisingly decent black coffee for $7. Ouch. Watched him patiently explain to some kid why shrimp weren’t “fish.” Kid looked crushed.
The whole place felt lived-in. Not fancy. Some parts downright shabby. Concrete cracked near the bathrooms. Benches needed repainting bad. But there’s a vibe. The sun beating down, breeze cutting the heat, gulls screaming bloody murder over spilled chowder. People just hanging out, not rushing. Couple sitting silently holding hands, staring at the waves. Felt peaceful, even when a toddler screamed bloody murder because a crab pinched his finger.
Walking Back
Finally packed it in around 2 pm. Sunburnt neck, empty cooler, smelling like bait and defeat. Walking back down the planks, saw that family from earlier. Kid was holding a tiny perch wrapped in a wet rag, beaming. Maybe that’s the real catch. Hell of a place. Zero fish for me, but a hell of a thing anyway.
